


the escape mechanism

by yumi_michiyo



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: "Romance", Angst, Drama, F/M, Implications of suicide, Tragedy, not a walk in the park
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yumi_michiyo/pseuds/yumi_michiyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She carries a curse from birth with no hope of lifting it; until one night, the ocean calls. Oneshot. Written for Helsa Week. Mermaid!AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the escape mechanism

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna be honest here and say I have no idea what day these prompts are for, but it is all [calenheniel](calenheniel.tumblr.com)'s fault and that should be all the reason needed; she is the one responsible for telling me about Helsa Week, giving me so many excellent ideas, and going over the many unpolished drafts until something worthwhile was produced.

**part I: Elsa**

* * *

She knows she's cursed.

She was born in the middle of a terrible winter that lasted twice as long and took half the kingdom with it. They had to break the ice in the frozen-over font during her baptism and she didn't cry, didn't make a single sound, when they touched the water to her. They whispered then that she was a winter-child, a snow-changeling that would melt away with the spring.

Twenty-one years later, she can still feel their eyes on her, watching for the thaw.

She has a sister three years her junior, the darling of their distant father and sickly mother, and her opposite. Where she is cold and remote and frozen, her sister is warm and open and happy; her hair is the colour of fire. In contrast, she is delicate and pale, with ice-blue eyes and white-blonde hair. Her sister calls her ethereal. She calls herself ghostly.

(Since she is a ghost it doesn't make sense for her to rule.)

She is to inherit the throne of Arendelle, and she would never wish such a fate on her worst enemy (even if it is herself). She could have accepted her fate with dignified resignation, but the deaths started when she was sixteen.

She was betrothed to a prince of a nearby land; their fathers had hoped to unite the kingdoms when the children were of age. He was tall and sprightly like a sapling. He bowed gracefully and kissed her hand, saying she was the loveliest snowflake to stay after winter.

But he fell from his horse when it stumbled into a new brook fed by spring rains, and broke his neck.

A little longer passed before the next suitor. Their families were acquainted but they had never formally met. He came to her with stories from neighbouring lands.

But he was lost with his ship in a raging summer storm.

She was seventeen when her father found her another suitor. He came from across the ocean bringing knowledge from an empire that never saw the setting sun.

But he sickened and faded with the autumn leaves before he could return.

The fourth suitor came undaunted by whispers of a curse surrounding the Snow Princess of Arendelle. He brought her stories of his distant land through a nervous-looking interpreter, and marvels that had yet to reach her kingdom.

But the whispers later brought news that he had been lost in a blizzard on his way home.

_There's no such thing as a curse, Princess. It's not your fault._

(But it is.)

* * *

**part II: Hans**

* * *

They say merfolk are born from seafoam. The truth is much more sinister.

The first merfolk sprang to life from the dying breaths of shipwrecked sailors, the manifestation of their will to live. And live they did; but lacking the vital spark of humanity.

So they are drawn to humans to drown them to claim their souls for their own.

Hans hasn't had much luck finding a soul to claim. Merfolk are almost exclusively female-looking because that is what male sailors lust after. But Hans despises his kin and haunts the shores and beaches far from the depths, waiting.

He doesn't know what he's waiting for.

Until the night it appears.

* * *

**part III: convergence**

* * *

On the eve of her twenty-first birthday, she contemplates the sea. She is about to come of age and is still unmarried. Her sister has already been betrothed and married off; she still wears the shimmering blue gown she attended their wedding banquet in.

So she'll rule over her kingdom after her father is gone, queen in her own right. The Snow Queen of a frozen and forgotten realm.

The thought is wholly unappealing to her.

The sea calls to her. It has a human voice, silky and soothing.

So she goes.

The water is icy for this time of year, but she doesn't care; she was baptised with ice, she's the Snow Princess, she's cursed.

Her first breath beneath the surface, however, burns like fire. She feels warm.

(She feels _alive._ )

* * *

**part IV: submerge**

* * *

He's a little shocked by the splash, enough to strangle that last note. He's haunted this stretch of coastline for long and lonely years, and he's yet to successfully lure a poor fool.

Hans goes to investigate, and sure enough, he's netted a poor fool.

She's on the verge of passing out; eyes fluttering shut, heartbeat slowing, bubbles pouring from her lips like a prayer.

He doesn't take her deeper. He wraps his arms around her waist and drags her up, up, towards the moon.

She coughs up the water she's swallowed once they break the surface, gasping for air. He holds on tight until she stops thrashing.

"You're a merman."

Hans arches an eyebrow. "Astutely spotted."

"You saved me." She sounds so disappointed; Hans can't help rolling his eyes.

"Yes."

Her fingers dig into his arm to no avail; his kind has skin thick and slimy to ward off the chill of the deep. "You should have let me die."

"Why?"

"You need a soul, don't you? You can have mine, as cursed as it is."

His ears prick up. "A curse? Good. Mine is to sing for deaf ears."

She is too taken aback to respond, but does eventually when they start to move. "Where are you taking me?"

"Back to shore, to be with your kind."

"I don't want to go back."

"Why? Because you're cursed?"

"Yes. I wish to die."

"Not here. Go end yourself with one of the other myriad ways you humans have devised to take lives. Don't pollute these waters."

Her eyes flash, and for a moment he thinks she will slap him, but then she looks away. He stops swimming then to look at her properly. Even soaked it's clear her clothes are of the finest quality. She holds herself as imperious as she can be while being dragged unceremoniously through the water, managing to look down her nose at him although she is shorter. Tears are trickling down her face, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes.

Slowly, a smile spreads across his face. He was wrong; she is not prey.

She is a toy.

"I have a better idea," he says, and she glances at him. "There is a sea witch known to my kind, who brews potions that can turn humans into merfolk."

"You are suggesting I become a mermaid?" she asks flatly.

He shrugs. "Do you have a better idea than," his lip curls, "suicide?"

She falls silent. They swim on in silence until his fins brush sand, and then she stumbles out of his grasp onto the shore. "Will you return tomorrow night?" she asks, still not looking at him.

"As you wish, my lady."

* * *

**part V: enticement**

* * *

He comes as bidden, and she is waiting for him by the shore. "Tell me about this sea witch," she demands, "for I have not read anything like that in my books."

"The truly important information is never contained in writing, especially not the lore of the merfolk which no landwalker can write about," he scoffs, and gloats when she reddens. "But she is said to be a thousand seasons old, with spells from all the seven seas."

"I don't seek to live a thousand seasons. Tell me what she can do for me."

"She can turn you into a mermaid. Didn't I mention this already?"

Even from his perch on a rock in the water, he can see the muscles in her jaw working, her tiny fists balling with anger. She is a proud, prickly thing, and he has never been so entertained. "I don't care for whatever nonsense you babble, merman," she spits, "I only want to know if she can help me."

"Define help."

She pauses, caught. "I... I want to lift my curse."

His grin unsettles her, it seems, so he grins at her again. "Interesting. Don't you wish to die, anymore?"

Her pink cheeks go pale. "I didn't mean to jump last night."

"But you heard the sea call to you."

She remains silent.

He fakes a yawn. "I haven't got all the time to indulge your whims, my lady. Here's my offer: I am agreeable to take you to the sea witch. You can decide what you want to ask her, she can decide whether she wants to help you, and you can live happily ever after - or die, if that may be the case."

She stares at him, aghast. "You - are you mocking me?"

"I would never," he responds dryly - the irony of which, he notes with delight, is not lost on her.

He watches her chest swell and jaw tip upwards as she struggles to muster what's left of her control of the situation. "Very well," she says at last. "Take me to the sea witch. I wonder though," her eyes glint, "what _you_ get out of this arrangement."

"Amusement," he says, then amends it to "your soul," when she glares at him.

"What?"

"You'll have no need of it if you're going to die. Better in the keeping of someone you know than with some sacred repository in the sky."

She pales, and then grows red with anger. "You dare mock Our Father…?"

"Merfolk have different beliefs from landfolk."

"But what if I become a mermaid?" The question is tentative.

"You lose your soul anyway," he explains. "I think. I don't know exactly what happens."

She frowns. "You're very informative."

"At the very least I've provided you with solutions worth considering." He folds his arms across his chest. "So? What is your decision?"

* * *

**part VI: voyage**

* * *

She spends two days gathering food. At midnight on the second day, she takes a small dinghy from the harbour and rows out to meet him.

"It won't be _that_ far," he'd told her, "but it'll be slow since I only know the way underwater."

He is waiting under the pier. Maybe she's paranoid, but she swears he is laughing at her clumsy oarwork.

"Hnn," he says by way of greeting, wrinkling his nose at the food she's stashed, "at least no one can say you're not taking this seriously."

He turns and leads the way across the open water, sinking and resurfacing periodically, while she rows after.

"You're slow," he complains, slipping under and beside her in an instant, all slick fins and movement. "Humans aren't much without their legs."

She says nothing, concealing blistered palms beneath her cloak.

He notices.

"Here."

"What?"

He sticks a hand in the dinghy, holds out an end of rope. "Tie this securely to something. I'll tow you. We've got a way to go and I'd really not want to make this any slower than it already is."

She struggles with herself for a moment. She'd rather not depend on anyone.

(Can curses affect mermen?)

But then he says: "Please," and under the moonlight she can see his slick russet hair and aquiline jawline, the almost earnest expression he wears. She relents.

He takes the rope, smirks, and disappears into the depths.

* * *

**part VII: boon**

* * *

The sea witch's home is not what she was expecting; he can see it in the split-second before her expression changes to its impassive mask.

Human royalty can be _so_ boring.

"Old Mother!" he yells, and the seaweed curtain rustles.

"Why, visitors! It's been so long," says the crone as she emerges. "Come to seek a boon from the old witch, no doubt."

"She has," he says, nodding at his human companion, who blushes violently and stammers out a greeting and apology for her intrusion. The witch waves at her and she falls silent.

"Nothing to be ashamed of. It's human to desire. What do you want from me?"

Her throat works, and she says: "I wish to become a mermaid."

* * *

**part VIII: payment**

* * *

She is quiet the entire journey back, staring down at the little vial in her lap. He tows the boat without comment.

"You surprised me," he says.

She lifts her head, smiles ruefully. "I surprised myself too." She had been ready to ask for death, or even something as foolish as lifting her curse, but then something else had possessed her.

(She might know what it is.)

"What truly surprises me, though, is the payment she demanded." He rests his arms on the edge of the dinghy to keep himself from drifting away. "Three drops of blood from a human maiden. She has been known to ask for much more."

She doesn't know how to respond to that.

* * *

**part IX: precipice**

* * *

"Let me rest awhile; I'm exhausted," he whines after dragging the dinghy ashore. He sprawls on the sand, ungainly out of the water.

"I'm sorry."

"Why should you be? You got what you wanted."

She colours. He can tell she was trying to apologise without having to say what it was she was apologising for; how he loves antagonising her. "For… _inconveniencing_ you."

"Ha! Inconveniencing! You've quite a way with words, haven't you?" He throws back his head and laughs.

She doesn't glare at him until he quietens this time; she's learned that tactic works for everyone except him. She simply stares at him until he finishes his loud (fake) fit of laughter. "You have no sense of humour," he says severely.

"It's not funny." He watches her gaze move to the vial, then to his tail, and up his body until she meets his eyes; he stares back until she breaks contact a heartbeat later. "... will you take me out into the water?"

He nods curtly. Slipping into the water, he swims until his fins no longer brush sand, and then extends his hand to her. When she takes it, he yanks her forward - she gasps - and plunges into the waves.

He's not gentle. He doesn't have to be, anymore.

When they resurface, she's pale but not coughing up seawater like the last time. "You haven't dropped the vial, have you?" She holds it up, shooting him a reproachful look. He shrugs. "I had to ask."

She pulls out the stopper and lets it sink. Before she can lift it to her lips, she says: "What is your name?"

It's a bizarre thing to ask _now,_ in this moment, but he doesn't pretend to understand human whim and he obliges her. "Hans."

"I am Elsa." The vial teeters, and she adds: "I… I don't know what will happen after I drink this, but before that, I - wanted to thank you. For saving me that night, and helping me."

And then she kisses him.

* * *

**part X: liminality**

* * *

He tastes of the sea.

His naked torso is pressed against her, and his arms are still around her waist, but she doesn't care; she's about to leave her cursed life behind, and he might be the only person - thing - who will ever care for her. Her free hand fists into his hair and pulls _hard._

He makes a muffled noise against her lips. His lips part, and he kisses her back. She gasps when his hands grip her tightly; she's never been this close to a man before, and his strength alarms her.

But then a hand steals into her wet hair, gently teasing out the matted strands as it caresses her scalp, and she relaxes.

And then she is sinking, sinking.

_The vial!_

Her eyes fly open just in time to see the contents seep out into the waves; her scream of frustration muffled by the water and his mouth. When she pulls away in her anger, she can see his eyes are dark with desire, and… something else undefinable.

She understands.

She stops struggling.

Slowly, he approaches. His lips brush against hers, and then press closer, stealing a kiss and the rest of the breath in her lungs away. The last thing she sees as her eyes flutter shut is _him_.


End file.
